Chapter 38

MELODY

Igo backto work after an hour of incessant questions about Jax––he has that effect on women, and my mother is no exception.

He's never looked my way.

Theywere still in the restaurant when I walked out with my mother, and we said our goodbyes in front of the restaurant and went our separate ways.

Entering my office moments later, I do the most unexpected thing. I callhim.

Hedoesn'tanswer. I knew he'd do that. My irritation only grows as I call him again. And again.

Okay.

I give up after scolding myself for acting silly.

I won't fix this by talking to him on the phone.

I drop my cell phone into my purse and impatiently wait to go home.

The real estate agent calls me after six and asks me if I've made up my mind, putting more pressure on me.

It's not only that.

I believeherwhen she says the property won't be available forlong.

But I still need to get my financingin place, and my head is simply not there.

Seven o'clock finds me at home in the bathtub with a glass of wine and a storm of ideas in my head.

A loud knock on the door makes me spill my wine when I toss my drink on theedge of the bathtub.

Startled, I rise to my feet, ignore the towel, and slide my bathrobe on.

With my hair still wet and dripping, I run my fingers below my eyes and make a beeline for the door.

I have one man in mind, and my heart jolts in my chest like a puppy.

Luckily, I tiptoe to the door before peeking through the peephole.I havea hard timeidentifying the man in front of my apartment because of the dim lights. Not to say he has his back turned to me.

Who does that?

This is not Myron Smith. He is shorter than the man in front of my door.

And it's not Jax.

Jax is taller than this man.

And then, a crazy idea pops into my head. Shoot. This is Marlowe Jones.

It's Wednesday, and it's seven o'clock. He thought I'd have drinks with him and maybe sleep with him later.

A hand slides over my mouth.

The thought of having a conversation with him now, which might turn into aconfrontation,makes me stealthily back away.

He knocks on the door again, and I'm sure he knows I'm home.

Oh, crap.

You know that saying about not shitting where you're eating.

The idea of spending time with himwas stupid, and forgetting about it is even worse.

I'll need to fix this, but I don't want to do it now.

Him showing up at my door is not a good sign.

It's my fault that I forgot about it, but it's not like I stood him up at a bar or a restaurant.

He only crossed the corridor, for fuck's sake. I'm sure he can go back and see about his life, leaving me alone.

Yes, I'm angry, maybe unjustifiably so, but I am.

I will apologize tomorrow morning.

Heneeds to go now.

Hedoesn't do that, though,and raps on the door again, startling me. He is beyond insistent, and I'd hate to feel my landlord's wrath again because I'm causing so much trouble.

All right.I need to take care of it right now.

Grabbing my phone, just in case I need to call for help, I go straight to the door.

"Coming," I bark.

No longer tiptoeing, I reach the door, unlock it, and swing it open as if there's a fire in the house.

Marlowe watches me with stern eyes. What I like even less than being ghosted is being berated.

"I'm sorry," I say before hehas the chance tospeak. "I completely forgot about our meetup. Today is not a good day," I say, aiming for an easy way out. "I had a long day at work."

I hate myself for saying that and then… continuing?

"Maybe some other time?" I murmur.

He looks down as if he knows I'm naked underneath and lifts his eyes, oblivious to my words.

"Dry your hair and put something on. Or not. I'll be waiting for you,"hesays bossy, and I resent bossy.

"That's not going to happen," I say, standing my ground.

He lifts an eyebrow at me––I'm sure his tough, macho look works with some women––and crosses his arms over his chest, looking me up and down.

"No need to get angry with me," he says.

Seriously?

He taunts mewith his blatant disrespect, and I should know better, but I snap.

"This is not me getting angry," I say.

His smug smile makes me clench my hands into fists.

He laughs derisively when the door to the building buzzes someone in,anda dark silhouette walks in.

We both look in that direction as Jax drops the door closed and pushes his eyes to us.

He doesn't like what he sees.

And Marlowe Jones has no idea what he sees, but I get a hint of what might happen.

The confrontation seems unavoidable as Jax knows much more than I thought about my neighbor and takes two steps at a time up the stairs.

Within seconds, he closes the space between us.

"Who're you?" Marlowe asks, realizing the man with an angry glint in his eyes is headed for him.

Without a word, Jax grabs the back of Marlowe's neck, spins him around like a toy, and shoves him toward his door.

He definitely knows a lotmore about my neighbor than I thought he knew.

What the fuck?

Does he know who Marlowe Jones is?

"Go inside and shut the door," Jax growls under his breath, but Marlowe doesn't go to the gym for nothing, and he thinks that twirling around and shooting a well-rehearsed jab at Jax is a great idea.

Breathlessly, I watch Jax as he ducks to the side, steps behind my belligerent neighbor, and puts him in a chokehold.

I wholeheartedly appreciate that he has carefully considered his options and picked a defensive move instead of knocking Marlowe out and leaving him unconscious on the floor.

He drags the man to his apartment like it's a rag doll and pushes him inside.

"Go in, man, and mind your own business," Jax says, his hand on the doorknob.

He adds a few more words I can't make out before he closes the door and comes straight to me.

Marlowe never opens the door again, and when Jax reaches my door, I'm already inside, bracing myself.

MELODY

The wooden floorscreak under his boots, his coldness sending a shiver down my spine.

He runs a tense hand through his dark hair, his muscles grinding beneath his skin.

Dark jeans and a skintight T-shirt only emphasize his athletic frame.

"Do you know Marlowe Jones?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.

He flicks eyes muddied with fury to me.

"Do you?" he shoots back.

I hug myself, wrestling with the cold.

"What do you mean?"

His eyesare buried deep in my gaze, but his lips stay silent.

"Why are you here, Jax?" I ask quietly, grappling with a bad feeling.

He looks like someone who's about to give up on me despite how stubborn and determined he usually is.

Maybe I am too much.

Maybe other things are at play.

Maybe he's changed his mind.

This is the thing with hookups and relationships.

They're never linear. There are ups and downs and rough patches you have to go through. It's a learning process, and not everybody makes it in the end.

And we've officially hit our first rough patch.

It's unnerving and puzzling, and I hate that we are here. And instead of losing my robe and lying down for him, inviting him to top me and fuck me raw, we have to deal with issues.

We"ve barely known each other for a few weeks, and we're already frustrated and resentful. It's too early in our timeline, and I doubt we'll make it.

He tips his gaze down, a sad smile dangling from his lips.

"You seemed to have a problem at the restaurant today," he says.

"I can say the exact same thing about you."

Seemingly, our secret affair doesn't work out as we had planned, as life has different plans for us.

We can't just meet and have sex and not deal with the consequences of everything else.

It's not up to us.

He pushes out a long exhale.

"I didn't expect to see you there," he says, evading my eyes.

"There as in at a nice restaurant having lunch with my mother?' I'm sorry for––"

He flicks his hand up, cutting me off.

"I'm not doing thepassive–aggressivegame. I didn't say you had no business being there. I said I didn't expect to see you there. I wasn't blaming you for anything."

I bite my lip to stay quiet.

"Things are difficult for us as they are…" he says silently, looking down again. "I didn't want to talk to you about what I do for a living in the middle of a restaurant in Manhattan. It's too early to have that conversation," he says, raising his eyes. "And I don't want to chat about it in a rush."

His eyes meet mine while he goes on.

"Maybe we'll never have that conversation. And you will remember me for who I am, not what I do for a living."

My lip rolls under my teeth.

"Are you a criminal, Jax?"

He ponders his answer, his gaze threaded through mine as he slowly shakes his head.

"I can't be criminally charged with anything if that's what you mean."

I, um…

I don't know what to say.

"Do I live dangerously?" he murmurs. "Yes. I do," he goes on. "Choosing a different way of life doesn't always work, does it?" he says in the same quiet voice.

"Why can't you do something different? And are you a mafia man?"

He doesn't answer.

Who would?

"Why, Jax?"

He remains silent, mulling over something while I try to speculate. The truth is,Idon't know the intricacies of his life.

He's made his decisions as I have made mine, thinking about what serves me well.

Why would I expect something different from him?

He searches my eyes as Iseem unable toconceal what's in my soul.

"Before you judge me…" he says, "and discount my choices, makesure you know who your other men are."

My other men?

He goes on.

"You think you set the bar high, yet you're afraid to get a good look at them. And you need a shrink to help you do that?"

My heart stops.

Has he gotten his hands on Aretha Stenson's notes about my life?

Or is he that intuitive?

"You're running in circles, evading the truth. That's what you do, Melody. You know the truth about us, yet you can'tmove pastyour fears. In your defense, you're conditioned to act that way. I didn't want to hurt you. I swear to God, I didn't want to. And I know it's not about the money. I may not have a job, but I make my money. It's you being afraid of life and yourself. So… Before you run to yourdoctorand cry in a corner because I'm not wearing a suit and going to a job every day, let me help you with that. I do what I do and try to stay out of trouble. I have people to protect. People I love. You were one of those people. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their lives. They're all I have. I can"t speed up the process if you can't see us for who we are. I can't help you in that way. But I'll give you something else. The man you held in high regard, Thomas Everett, is seeing prostitutes while dating women like you. Not one at a time but two at a time. And they know about each other, as they come from the same agency. So he's having his sexual needs met while maintaining absolute control over them and pursuing women like you. Women he sees as trophies. The jerk across the hallway, your neighbor, is not much different. He likescallgirls more than he likes to give you sweet lies over dinner in the hopes of getting laid. These men… The mature men you're seeking who are pushing forty or are past that milestone are single for a reason. No one sits on a burning desire to have a family while spending time with prostitutes and talking some woman's ear off for drinks and sex. I'm sure you've suspected that all along, but somehowyoucouldn'tmake yourselfstep away from the paradigm of the perfect man versus the man who was simply good for you."

Every word he says is a nugget of wisdom I never thought I'd have delivered to me so bluntly.

"For the record, I didn't plan to break it to you so harshly, but I thought it was necessary since your fuck boy was at the door, fussing with you, and the other one was missing in action. There's no point in talking about the French fluff who strutted like a peacock, making weird demands. I think I'm done…" he says.

He gives me a soft nod, and without another word, he exits my place.